


At your service, Pillow Prince

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Baby Dragons and other founders of Republic City [8]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Sokka, Bad Dirty Talk, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fire Lord Zuko, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: "Sokka still doesn't get this whole 'dominance and submission' thing, much less the 'sadism and masochism' one.What hedoesget is that making Zuko say nice stuff about himself? And forcing him to listen to Sokka say nice stuff? Really, really does it. For both of them.Wherein: Sokka finds the service top he was meant to be all along, and they should probably learn to negotiate one of these days."
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Baby Dragons and other founders of Republic City [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721398
Comments: 45
Kudos: 678





	At your service, Pillow Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This work is technically a part of our large post-canon polyverse, but no mentions of other pairings are made, so this can be read as a stand-alone Zukka fic. -Mello

“Yeah,” Sokka gasps, heel of his hand skating down the sweat-slick curve of Zuko’s spine. The action shoves Zuko’s face more firmly into the decorative pillows. Typically Sokka would immediately pull back, concerned at being too rough, but-- Zuko’s established a sincere preference for rough, and Sokka’s learning. 

So he doesn’t pull back, instead allowing his hand to stay settled at the base of his neck. 

Zuko flails backward with a hand, probably to try and tangle it in Sokka’s hair, but the last two times he’d tried that he’d poked Sokka in the eye. Sokka grabs his hand, shoves it back down and holds it there. The angle means he has to lean his weight into it to keep his balance.

“No,” Sokka says firmly. 

Zuko freezes. Sokka thinks it’s the good kinda freeze, until Zuko nods slowly into the pillow and stops frantically humping the silk sheets the way he had been, shoulders hunching underneath his hand as he curls into himself. Sokka’s more than a little familiar with Zuko’s self-consciousness and curses their constant miscommunications. 

“No!” Sokka says, and releases his wrist immediately. He pets awkwardly down the arch of Zuko’s spine with his fingertips. “Don’t do that, you’re good, you’re doing so good.”

Can’t they at least have _sex_ without misunderstanding each other? 

Zuko’s shoulders hunch further, but his hips arch back into Sokka’s before he freezes again— Sokka can see the back of his ears, his neck flushing. He slowly gives a thumbs up with one hand, and digs his face further into the pillow.

Well, that was fucking _adorable._ Sokka feels his own face flush as the desire to see it again crashes through him. He’s more firm in the way he pets between Zuko’s shoulder blades, a deliberateness in the movement. 

“Hrrrnnngh,” Zuko says into the pillow.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, redundant, “that’s real good, sweetheart. Tell me what you like.” 

“ _Hrrrnngh,”_ Zuko says into the pillow, higher pitched, and his hips make that aborted shudder again.

Sokka’s hips stutter, fucking deeper into Zuko than he’d intended, completely involuntary. They moan in tandem, loud and surprised.

Zuko peeks at Sokka through a heavy curtain of inky hair. It’s a quick glance, shy, but they make eye contact for the briefest second and share a moment of mutual understanding.

“Gods, I like the way you look right now,” Sokka says impulsively. His body is burning up. 

Zuko slams his face back into the pillow, and arches his back for a better angle, knuckles white from clenching the sheets. It really doesn’t get clearer than that, so Sokka, feeling half stupid and half invincible, keeps going.

“You’re always so responsive,” he notes, and feels a little dumb. “I mean, you’re so— so _good_ , at all of this. Sex,” and he thrusts deeply, “feelings, fighting,” their hips are slapping together, and it seems louder somehow when he’s _talking,_ more intentional, “Okay, maybe not feelings, but _definitely_ fighting, Gods, when you’re fire bending it’s fucking, fucking _intense._ ” 

He’s breathing heavily, working Zuko harder than he normally does as words rise from his chest in an uncontrollable deluge. 

Zuko is either trying to crawl away or crawl _into_ Sokka, it’s a bit unclear with the amount of— wriggling going on. Sokka’s started to feel more silly than cool, and he strokes Zuko’s asscheek where it’s jiggling against him and asks, “Zuko? Are you good?”

Zuko, eyes squeezed shut, face squeezed up in something that could be agony or could be near-orgasm, says, “No, I’m the _worst.”_

Sokka chokes on a startled laugh, because _of course_ he misunderstood what he meant. He’s about to tease him about it when he notices a tear track down one of Zuko’s cheeks. It drops gracefully onto the silk, disappearing. 

Sokka can pretend that he didn’t see it. Zuko would probably prefer that, but. 

But Sokka wouldn’t. He’s so tired of accidentally hurting Zuko, and there’s something about this that’s turned from fucking to lovemaking to some combination of the two, and Sokka’s long learned to take their intimacy whenever he can. 

“You’re _good,_ ” Sokka emphasizes, slowing down to ease the harsh slapping of their skin. He circles his hips and folds himself more firmly over Zuko’s back, shoving his nose in the damp hairs at the base of his neck. He smells like smoke and jasmine tea and some sort of earth kingdom aromatic that Toph brings him. Sokka licks at the salt caught there and breathes hotly, changing the angle to fuck into him deeply and slowly. 

“And when you use your Dao,” he says, continuing as if there hadn’t been a pause. “You’re so fucking graceful, I can’t watch you without wondering how many blessings from Yue I’m wasting getting to be with you. Getting to be the one who sees you, you’re like-- like a spirit too beautiful to be with men.”

Zuko releases the sheets, grabs the sides of the pillow and folds them up to cover his ears. There’s a muffled series of words and whines, the cadence of _shut up shut up shut up_ familiar enough that Sokka can recognize it through the thick fabric.

“And you don’t _see_ it!” Sokka laughs, hips working languidly to keep them both just at the edge, a razorblade of pleasure and frustration. Zuko takes his weight like a champ, like he always does. There’s a nearly inaudible _stooooop._ “You’re so good, but Zuko, you’re,” Sokka swallows thickly and buries his face more firmly into Zuko’s neck, chin jutting painfully into heated skin. “You’re perfect for _me._ It’s like the gods gave you to _me._ ” 

Zuko screams into the pillow, pure frustration, throws an elbow back wildly at Sokka and somehow misses entirely, then kind of. Spasms under him. His fingers go boneless on the pillow, and Sokka’s fingers find them, threading together as he ruts desperately into him, a startled yell disappearing into Zuko’s hair. 

A moment passes, then two. There’s harsh breathing, and stifled whimpers, and another few moments. 

“What was that?” Zuko pants.

“Ngggh,” Soka answers. He’s still rocking his hips a little, shivering all over. 

“That was as good as—” Zuko snaps his mouth shut.

“Ngh?” Sokka asks. 

“As it could be?” Zuko asks in a strangled voice.

“Ngh!” Sokka grunts. 

“I’M REALLY TRYING NOT TO BRING HER UP IN BED I’M SORRY!” Zuko says.

Sokka bites the back of Zuko’s neck gently, and Zuko flops about like a dying fish for a minute, whining and gasping.

“Stop!” he finally gets out, but makes no move away.

“I’m starting to see the appeal,” Sokka mumbles, licking along Zuko’s trapezius muscle like they didn’t just have one of the best fucks of their lives. 

“You’re not allowed to be good at sex too,” Zuko moans, sounding genuinely distressed.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sokka asks, slowly leaning up and tipping to the side, the better to give Zuko a stink eye.

“At— _that_ sex, shut up,” Zuko says, and covers his eyes. 

“No, no,” Sokka placates, palm up. “Do go on. I _insist._ I’m not currently good at sex, you were saying?” 

“No, I mean—” Zuko grinds his palms in. “Sokka. I’d already give you anything. You can’t be _good at this too._ What if you ask for— for a castle? Or tax breaks?”

Zuko’s starting to sound legitimately upset, so Sokka does what he usually does now that they’ve been together for almost 20 years and he’s a mature and responsive partner. 

He teases Zuko more about the thing that’s upsetting him. 

“Oh, so are you saying that all I’ve had to do this whole time is be the tiniest bit nice to you?” he asks, trailing his fingertips along the cooling sweat of Zuko’s thigh. “Tell you how good you are, always finding time to let me rail you in the royal chambers? Remind you that you’re _beautiful_?” 

Zuko removes his hands from his eyes, grabs the blanket he’s currently laying on, and rolls himself up in it so quickly that he rolls right off the bed. He hits the floor with a whimper, a thud, and most of the sheets. He stays there.

Sokka army crawls to the edge of the bed and peeks his face over, reaching down to poke the Zuko-roll in the backside region. 

“Hey, hot stuff. You ok in there? Too scared to show me how cute you are?” He thrills a little the way he does when he knows he’s won a tactical mauver; when he’s gotten under an opponent's guard and knows he can make the disabling blow. 

“Hot stuff’s not home right now, but you can leave a message and I’ll burn it,” Zuko says. Judging from the sound he landed facing under the bed. “How do you have so much underwear down here?”

“It’s from all the great sex you give me,” Sokka answers breezily. 

“Don’t you wear it out of here though? Have you just been walking around—”

“--and replace the feeling of your sweet sweet skin on mine with--” 

“Slut,” Zuko says.

Sokka breaks, cracking up and rolling bonelessly on top of the Zuko roll. 

“The sex was good,” Zuko says in a very small voice, sounding squished and pleased about it.

“Well, I was bound to get it right eventually,” Sokka sighs. He wiggles a little, really grinding Zuko into the fancy carpeting. They look ridiculous.

“Infinite lemur-bats with infinite brushes will eventually write The Fire Lotus,” Zuko agrees.

“Stupid words to you too,” Sokka mutters, freeing Zuko’s face from the silk prison. He steals his opportunity to smooch him on the disgustingly pretty cheekbone.

“Give it back,” Zuko says, laughing, trying to get his arms out of the blankets to drag them over his face again. 

“You dignity?” Sokka asks, and kisses him all over, cheek and temple and nose and ear, “ _Never._ ” 

“How is your face so _wet,”_ Zuko says, attempting to roll away in the direction of the door.

“It’s the sex,” Sokka says sagely, “some of us aren’t pillow princesses.” 

“Some of us aren’t even _royalty,”_ Zuko says snobbily.

Sokka brackets both arms on either side of Zuko’s body to keep him blocked in. “Oh? And how may I _serve_ the Fire Lord, his Imperial Flameyness?” 

“You may serve him your dick, thrice daily,” Zuko says.

“That’s a big order. A big, long, thick--”

“You’re already behind on your quota,” Zuko says, and clucks disappointedly. “But if you don’t think the Southern Water Tribe’s best frozen pole is up to the challenge—” 

“ANYTHING,” Sokka shouts, kissing under Zuko’s jaw where it tickles him, “FOR MY ROYAL PILLOW-NESS.” 

Zuko can’t hide his laughter anymore, shoulders shaking even as he bites at his lip to keep the sounds in. His voice is strangled when he can speak. “That’s more like it, commoner. Keep it up and within the year you’ll have a title.”

Sokka’s an expert tactician. He gives his best boyish grin, leaning up to crinkle his eyes at Zuko. “The sex was really, _really good._ You did an amazing job. I am so proud of you.”

Zuko, still biting his lip, sniffs once. Then twice. Then a third, more urgently, eyes widening in terror. Then he starts crying. “DON’T LOOK AT ME,” he yells, and tries to wriggle out his arms harder, elbows jabbing at Sokka wildly through the blankets.

“Oh gods,” Sokka laughs, bewildered, and sits up to better drag Zuko into his arms. “You’re good, you’re good,” he repeats, petting at his hair and snickering through his worry. Amusement and concern are constantly at war within him when it comes to Zuko. 

“I must be, because y- _you’re_ the fucking worst now,” Zuko hiccups, burying his eyes into the curve of Sokka’s neck. “Stop being _nice.”_

“Oh, honey, look at that. You admitted you were good! That’s so fucking _wonderful,_ ” Sokka chokes out just before Zuko headbutts him in the chin and scrambles onto the bed like a spider-monkey. 

“I will b-b-bite your th-throat out,” he sobs into his knees.

Sokka scrambles right after, catching Zuko and tucking him into a roll, smushing him as he giggles. Sokka flexes his biceps as Zuko pushes weakly at his arms.

“I’m a _firebender_ ,” Zuko laugh-sobs, face twisting between a smile and a grimace. “Why is there so much water in me!”

“It’s the sex,” Sokka starts to say again, the rest muffled by a decorative silk pillow.

*** 

“Hey,” Sokka grins, crawling over the covers to where Zuko’s tucked comfortably beneath them, wearing a pair of spectacles and reading a trashy romance novel. It has a flower trellis on the cover that looks nothing like any flower Sokka’s ever seen, but that Zuko insists is _definitely_ a flower, and not the other things Sokka says he’s seen that look like it. It’s entitled “Blossoms in Bondage”. 

“Hey?” Zuko says, clearly surprised. He puts the book down to give Sokka his full attention. “I thought you were working late tonight?” 

“I was,” Sokka shrugs, reaching for Zuko’s glasses. “But then I remembered how sexy you sounded last night and had to leave before the Military Council saw my boner and challenged me to the Agni-Kai that their honor dictates.” 

“Why would their honor dictate that,” Zuko says flatly. The finger he’s using as a placeholder is tapping impatiently, and his cheeks are a bit pinker than normal. Oh, so he was at a _good_ scene. “They’re not fucking me.”

“Because,” Sokka says patiently, slipping the book from Zuko’s hand. He places his own finger between the pages to keep his place, long since learned his lesson, and opens it to read. “Because...they...have tiny…”

“Hey—” Zuko says, and snatches for the book.

“I want to read to you,” Sokka pouts, flopping onto his back. “Can’t I do something nice for you? Be a part of your life?”

“Be in _another_ part of my life—” Zuko flops onto him, but Sokka just holds the novel straight up in the air and out of his reach.

“ _Sokka,_ ” Sokka says, nasally, mocking Zuko’s high court accent, “ _Why aren’t you more romaaaaaantic, why don’t we do romaaaaaaantic stuff.”_

“That book is _not_ romantic!” Zuko says.

“Tough titties,” Sokka says, pinching Zuko’s nipple with one hand to demonstrate. Zuko gasps, and whines, and pushes into his fingers to relieve the sting before immediately pulling away to intensify it.

They are, in fact, tough. Hard, visible through the silk of his dressing robe, not the only things tenting through the thin fabric. “C’mere.” The book’s pages slap together above them, _thwipthwipthwip._

“I have to mark my page,” Zuko says, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Nope,” Sokka says, crawling on his knees to climb behind Zuko, locking his thighs around his hips. Zuko flops back against Sokka’s chest and tips his head back to eye him warily through his lashes. 

“I am come here,” Zuko says, just the most adorable little disgruntled Fire Lord Sokka ever did see. 

“And you did _so good_ listening,” Sokka simpers. The blush is instantaneous. The sound like a whistling teakettle has to build for a few seconds, and then Zuko opens his mouth and actual steam comes out.

Sokka kisses the side of Zuko’s neck gently. He’s got his one hand still holding the book above their heads, not a single tremor, the other wrapped around Zuko’s waist to cup loosely at the tent beneath his robe, carefully moving it away when Zuko presses needily against his palm. Zuko whimpers again, mouth clenched shut, steam from his nose brushing against Sokka’s arm, but stills his hips. 

“Now keep doing good listening while I read to you,” Sokka says, flipping the book open. 

Zuko makes one more grab for the book, but Sokka fixes him with his best _disappointed in you_ look, one eyebrow arched, and he immediately cringes back apologetically. He folds his hands over his stomach, fingers twined together politely, the only movement the nervous tapping of his thumbs.

It’s really hard for both of them to ignore the way Sokka’s erection is jutting against the small of Zuko’s back now. Sokka’s pretty sure that Zuko’s breathing deeper just to rub against it subtly.

“Hnng,” Sokka says, and grinds against Zuko a little. 

“I don’t think that’s in the book,” Zuko says.

Sokka retaliates, kissing a bruise onto the side of Zuko’s neck. His entire body tenses, thumbs digging into his own stomach, but he doesn’t move, and Sokka hums against the skin and feels the way Zuko’s whole body shudders. 

He also doesn’t say anything when Sokka pulls away with a wet sound and says, again, loudly, “HNNNGH.”

There’s a pause where Sokka moves his hand away from Zuko’s crotch briefly to brush aside his hair where it’s laying sticky against the hickey. He swipes it onto Zuko’s other shoulder, freeing up more of Zuko’s neck, a subtle threat, and then replaces his hand to Zuko’s thigh. 

A muscle jumps in Zuko’s jaw, but he’s so still he’s barely breathing. He’s listening so intently that every time Sokka exhales he can see his ears twitch.

“Ok, princess,” Sokka says, opening the book again. He tucks his chin over Zuko’s shoulder and starts to read. 

“Blossom had never felt this fire before. As the mistreated Courtesan of the former Fire Lady, she had felt fire in so many forms— across her skin, in her overspiced food, in the anger at her soiled honor and inability to do anything about it. But with Komiko, the fire sat deep in the base of her belly. —” Sokka stops, licks his lips. 

“Hey, is this like a weird autobiography?” Sokka asks, and Zuko goes from loose limbed to tense immediately. 

“It’s fiction,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Okaaaay,” Sokka says, unconvinced, thumb tucked between Zuko’s thigh and the base of his cock. It’s a small pressure, a reminder, a promise of things to come. 

“It spread from there to her most private parts— parts that were now private again, and that she meant to keep that way--ok, come on, does this person even know what sexy _is_?” Sokka asks. A violent shudder rolls through Zuko’s body as he physically restrains himself from throttling Sokka right then and there. 

“ _If you don’t like it, don’t read it,”_ Zuko hisses, and Sokka shakes his head. 

“No, no, I do this for you,” Sokka hums. “She could feel it lick along the ropes that bound her wrists, her thighs, her ankles. She knew that the curse left Komiko no choice but to bind her every night, that if Komiko was to choose she would never have even met Blossom. That her rescue is incidental to convenience, that her safety is tenuous at best.

“Tonight Komiko stands over her, watching silently as the moon rises. Blossom braces herself, sucking in a deep breath, and waits for the fire to roar to an inferno. That is what it means to bind a fire spirit’s power to a human soul, with nothing but salt soaked ropes and the cool strength of an island night.”

Now Zuko’s breathing heavy, lost in the story, momentarily forgetting that the rough voice reading it to him is Sokka’s. For a moment he’s in his own head, imagining what it would feel like, and he rolls his hips against Sokka’s palm where it’s slipped between the fold of his robes. 

“Have you read this before?” Sokka asks. “Nothing’s happening, buddy.”

Zuko instantly tenses up, covering his face, shoulders hunched to his ears. It crushes Sokka’s face in the process and he makes a wounded sound, slipping his grip from Zuko’s pelvis to wrap firmly around his waist. 

“Please stop reading that book to me,” he pleads quietly. 

It’s Sokka’s turn to tense, something thick in Zuko’s voice. Slowly, he lays the book down, pages against the bed with the cover facing up. “Hey,” he says gently, using his freed hand to take Zuko’s chin and tilt it to the side, trying for eye contact. Zuko refuses, blinking rapidly. 

“I have read it before,” Zuko says. That confession comes easily, but Sokka can see the fight to get out another one and stays silent. He already feels kind of awful though, insulting Zuko’s favorite book so badly that he got _upset_. “I uh… I might have. Written. It.”

“Zuko,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko cringes some more and pulls away, dragging the edge of his robe up where it’s fallen to reveal a bare shoulder. He then pulls it up further, tugging the collar until he can hide his mouth under it.

“Zuko,” Sokka whispers again, voice awed. “Zuko, that’s _so cool._ That’s _amazing._ ” He flips the book’s cover to get a look at the author and sees _Kuzon Lee._ “And it’s not even cause you’re Fire Lord, huh? You’re just _that good._ ” Sokka’s eyes are practically sparkling when he looks at Zuko, still clutching his robe closed but equally wide-eyed in surprise. 

“You were making fun of it,” Zuko accuses.

“I make fun of _you,_ ” Sokka agrees. Zuko’s still all scrunched up like a fancily dressed pill bug, so Sokka reaches out and wraps a big hand around one ankle, drags him back into hugging range. “And you are…?” 

“Upset?!” Zuko remains scrunched up, even though he’s slowly tipping over.

“Good!” Sokka says, and wraps his arms around Zuko’s waist, pulling him back into his lap. He noses under Zuko’s jaw, prying him open like a sea clam to get at his vulnerable soft spot. Then he slurps on it. 

“AH!” Zuko yells, trying to escape. 

“MMMM,” Sokka says. “Yep,” he pops his p sharply, “That’s a good Zuko. Ripe.”

“ _Ripe?!_ I bathed—” he sputters.

“Oh, so breasts can be ripe, but your _neck_ can’t be?”

“I have _never_ called a breast _ripe—”_

Sokka reaches for the book, intending to prove him wrong, but Zuko, eyes wide, _punches at it._

The bed is very abruptly on fire.

“AHHHH!” Sokka screams, and tackles Zuko off the flaming mattress.

“Get off me! I need to put it out!” Zuko says, launching Sokka off of him with an expert use of momentum. Sokka lands in a screen, arms and legs akimbo.

He takes a very, _very_ deep breath in, and Sokka’s _certain_ that’s not how firebending should work— but he. Sucks the fire into him, just like how Ursa does. Then he stands there, panting raggedly.

“Oh my god that was very VERY hot,” Sokka gets out in a rush. He’s less attractive and more pathetic as he struggles out of the ribbons of colored paper and gold silk thread. He wipes a few fluttery remains from his bare chest, picking a string of gold out of his chest hair. 

“That screen was an antique,” Zuko says wearily. He hasn’t even turned around yet. Foolishly, he— or maybe his attendants— keep deciding that a proper Fire Lord is constantly surrounded by priceless historical artifacts.

“Twenty years and you haven’t run out of antiques. How old _is_ this country?”

“18 years, 5 months, 2 days,” Zuko says, and rubs at his temples. “There’s still time.”

“That,” Sokka says emphatically, “was very, very sexy.” He approaches Zuko with open palms and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Don’t read my fucking book,” Zuko says, but catches his hands in his.

“You’re not really deterring me with that performance,” Sokka hums, pulling Zuko close enough that their noses touch. He’s still grinning. “18 years, mumble months and days,” he agrees, but before he can get out a good tease Zuko’s stepping further into his space. 

Sokka tips his head in preparation for the kiss. Zuko arches an eyebrow, twists his hands out of Sokka’s grip and in the same breath has him pinned face down to the bed. “Don’t read. My fucking. Book,” he says into Sokka’s ear. Then he kisses his cheek sweetly, and lets him go.

“Yue,” Sokka swears, and Zuko grumbles in annoyance, always irritated when Sokka brings her up in bed. “Zuko, she likes hearing about my life. And this is the most important thing to happen to me _ever.”_

Before Zuko can get goopy thoughts about love or whatever he clarifies. “Getting railed by the hottest guy in the Fire Nation.” 

“You uh,” Zuko says, and he sits down on the bed next to Sokka, who hasn’t stood up, instead pillowing his head on his arms comfortably, ass up. “Would you… like that? If I… instead…?”

“Oh my gods, sweetheart, _no,_ ” Sokka laughs, eyes twinkling up at him. “I like how badass you are and that I can still sit on you and give you a wet willy while you whine like a little bitch.” 

Zuko stares at him skeptically. “Unrelatable.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“I like doing things you like doing,” Zuko clarifies. “So you should tell me. What you like.”

Sokka rolls onto his back and stretches languidly. “Yeah? Funny story there, hotshot. I _also_ like doing things you like doing.” 

“You don’t like it when I _tell_ you what to do,” Zuko says, looking very intently at the floor. He leaves the other half of the sentence hanging in the air unsaid, the _I do._ Sokka’s not _exactly_ sure which direction Zuko’s going with this.

He reaches out to tug at Zuko’s wrist, pulling him into his chest. Zuko’s hair falls around them in a pretty curtain, obscuring some of his expression and softening the sharp lines of his frown. 

“We’ll get ash on us,” he says softly.

“One of the perks of being with you,” Sokka agrees, going back to the spot on Zuko’s neck he’d started on earlier. 

“I thought the perk was getting ass on you.”

“That too,” Sokka agrees, grabbing it. He squeezes a little. “I don’t let you fuck me often—” Sokka says just as Zuko says, “What you were doing before—”

There’s a pause.

“Guests first,” Zuko says in a strangled voice. 

“No, you go ahead,” Sokka says lightly, still kneading the meat of Zuko’s ass.” 

“I’m very interested in what you have to say,” Zuko says, and then pauses a beat. Sokka waits him out, and he crumbles. “What you were doing before. With the book. It was— uh. Good.”

“Yeah?” Sokka says, smiling softly. Pleased. He reaches to tuck some of Zuko’s hair behind his ear so that he can get a better look at his face. “What you were doing was good too. With the whining and blushing and being a brat.” 

Zuko shuts his eyes, presses his lips into a thin line, face red. “Uurughgh.”

“Ha ha ha,” Sokka laughs, deliberate. “Man, picking on you is my favorite past-time. I _know_ I’ve teased you in bed before. What’s the magic I landed on last night?”

Zuko gently knocks his forehead against Sokka’s, rhythmically. “How. Can. You. Be. So smart. But. So. Dumb.”

“Repetitive head trauma,” he replies, deadpan.

Zuko immediately stops knocking their foreheads together, cracking one eye open, just a slit of gold behind black eyelashes. 

Sokka meets his eye.

Zuko slowly opens it all the way.

Sokka slowly closes one eye.

Zuko slowly cracks the other one open to a slit.

Sokka squints at him with his open eye.

Zuko snorts, and knocks their foreheads together again. 

“The violence of this administration,” Sokka grumbles, grinding their foreheads together. “There should be a coup.” 

“You need me to say things very clearly,” Zuko says. It’s a question, phrased as a statement.

“If that’s a question, then yes. If it’s a statement, then _duh._ ” 

“Question,” Zuko says.

“If you were stranded on a deserted island and could only--”

“You.”

Sokka dips his head to gnaw on the leather band of Zuko’s betrothal necklace in the way that he hates. 

“I only have _one of those,_ ” Zuko says, and pushes at his chin gently. He says this because like an overachiever, he had made Sokka one for every day of the week and most major holidays.

“You’d have more,” Sokka says, “except I scared off all your suitors. Can I say nice things to you and make you cry? I feel like I always want to say nice things to you and you used to get mad when I made you cry, but that was _without_ dicks involved and now you’ve taken a different stance.” 

“You have not scared off any suitors,” Zuko says, and then does _not elaborate._ “Yes you can make me cry with your dick.”

“Hey!” Sokka says, offended. “That can mean many many different rude things! Also it could be a trap.” 

“Make me cry on your dick,” Zuko says, flatly. “That’s the trap. My anus.”

“Ew,” Sokka says, screwing up his face. “If this is what education gets you I’m glad for the head trauma.” 

“Would you prefer my mouth,” Zuko says. “And this is what dating only one person for nearly two decades gets you. Improvement in dirty talk.”

Sokka pulls back from sneakily mouthing at Zuko’s necklace to frown at him. “Zuko,” he says, tone reprimanding yet serious. Zuko flinches guiltily, which is his default reaction to many things. 

“I _know_ you hate calling it dating.” He tugs emphatically at the necklace, eyes narrowed. “Normally I would let it go, but my dick is telling me that if I make you say what you _wanna_ say it’ll be good for both of us.”

“Your dick is a dick,” Zuko grumbles. He flops off of Sokka, onto his back near him, staring at the red silk canopy of the bed. 

“Talking about feelings is stupid,” Sokka sighs reproachfully. “That’s why you do it for me. We haven’t been _dating_ for a million years.” He reaches out, gently brushing his fingertips over Zuko’s arm, feeling the way that it gives him goosebumps. This could end really fucking embarrassing, but in for a buck, or whatever.

“No, we haven’t,” Zuko says. “And it wasn’t ever ‘dating’ to me, anyways. This is just... new. I’d— I had stopped wanting more. Because you made it clear it wasn’t something you could give. I almost forgot. That I wanted it.”

“Stop.” Sokka says, firmly. He rolls on top of Zuko, chest to chest, and grabs his chin between his fingers to make him look. That’s a new trick, one he’s learned is like pouring oil on Zuko’s proverbial fire, and he’s used it liberally since.

“I really don’t want to fuck this up,” Zuko whispers, hands twisted in the back of Sokka’s shirt.

“No, we’re doing this different,” Sokka soothes, heart pounding. Zuko can probably feel it against his chest, but Sokka pushes on. “You’re too good for this, Zuko. There’s nothing lacking,” Sokka swallows, cringing internally against the vulnerability that saying this stuff out loud gives him. Still, Zuko’s body is reacting under his, loosening up. 

“I’m. Too good for sex with you?” Zuko asks, looking relieved by the praise but also deeply confused. He shifts a little, props up on his elbows, holds Sokka’s weight where it rests on him.

Sokka dances his fingers along Zuko’s spine, skipping across the vertebrae where he can feel them through the thin silk. “No, you’re too good to think that I could ever leave someone as amazing as you.” 

“That’s—” Zuko appears to have ten thoughts at once, and then huffs smoke. Sokka coughs in his face a little. “Flawed logic.” Sokka’s sliding the robe off of Zuko’s shoulders and kissing his collarbone as he starts to argue. “Sokka, don’t ignore me,” Zuko says, but Sokka does, flicking his tongue against a nipple. 

“Sokka, saying I’m too good to think something just implies that I’m _bad_ for thinkin—” 

“-- You’re the smartest person I know,” Sokka interrupts, lips and teeth catching Zuko’s nipple and eliciting a shudder. The tendons in Zuko’s forearms flex as he struggles to stay upright. “You had Toph build a secret passage between our rooms. I was super impressed by that.”

“I’m going to—” Zuko starts, then bites on his lip to stay quiet. After a deep breath through his nose, he tries again. “You didn’t _win._ ”

“What?” Sokka asks, leaning up to catch Zuko’s good eye. 

“Fuck you,” Zuko says half heartedly, and lets his arms slide flat to the mattress, dropping them both. Sokka goes with him, slowly settles his full weight and shoving between his thighs to roll his hips in satisfaction. 

“Next time,” Sokka promises. “This time it’s about you, and how mean you are to yourself and how I wish you could see how silly that is when you’re literally the prettiest, smartest, best Fire Nation citizen in the world.” He’s edging dangerously close between teasing and genuine, adrenaline spiking.

 _“Never talk to me again,”_ Zuko hisses, and starts trying to roll over so that Sokka can’t see his face. He’s trapped though, and just ends up rocking them awkwardly to the left. His eyes are bright, and the skin over his nose is starting to turn blotchy.

“C’mere,” Sokka says, kissing his mouth. “Let me get some of that ash on my tongue.”

“That’s my _mouth_ ,” Zuko says, desperately repressing emotion and clearly starting to succeed, grump face returning. “If you want my ass, you’re going to have to—”

Sokka kisses him deeply, shutting him up in the most effective way possible. Zuko bites at his bottom lip, just once, very softly, and then Sokka bites on Zuko’s bottom lip _multiple_ times _un_ softly. Zuko gives him a somewhat smug groan, and Sokka knows he’s been played, which only makes him bite more. Zuko does not mind.

Sokka pulls away with shiny lips and smirks. “You kiss like a dream, y’know that?”

“You dream of me? How romantic,” Zuko says. He was probably aiming for sarcastic, but it comes out heartrendingly sincere and insecure, the quiver in his voice betraying him.

“I do,” Sokka nods. “And in the dreams you say, _yes Sokka, you’re right Sokka, I am pretty and smart and kind,”_ Sokka says in a falsetto completely unlike Zuko’s deep voice.

“I would never say that,” Zuko says, and then because he’s an asshole who critiques _fake dreams,_ “Your dreams are incredibly unrealistic.”

Sokka shows Zuko his teeth and stops the gentle rocking of their hips. When Zuko frowns and moves to continue, Sokka stills his hips, hands familiar where they wrap around him and hold down. 

“Great idea,” he says cheerfully. “Gods, you’re so smart. You’re gonna say nice things about yourself, and I’m gonna make you orgasm.” 

“No I’m not,” Zuko says, eyes widening in panic.

“You won’t orgasm? Wow, pretty young for erectile dysfunction there, Zuko—”

“You can’t make me,” Zuko says, eyes narrowed. 

“No, I can’t. Because you’re stronger and more clever than me, and also I would never force you because I care about you--” 

“I could push you off at any time,” Zuko says, and then pointedly doesn’t move.

Sokka slides his palm up Zuko’s side to cup one of his pecs, smiling slowly. He brushes the nipple he’d been abusing earlier with his thumb. 

“You can’t _make_ me,” Zuko repeats, slowly, enunciating every word.

“No, I can’t. But you’ll do it cause you wanna be good. Right, sweetheart?” Sokka asks, pulling out all the stops. 

Zuko closes his eyes, a look of surrender and utter despair. Then he opens them. “Maybe.”

“I’m,” Sokka says, licking his lips. His eyes are blown wide, his breath coming fast. “I’m gonna be honest. I really like this.” 

“It’s abysmal, I hate it,” Zuko says flatly, and grinds upward— just once, just to demonstrate how hard he is, then he flattens his hips again.

“You want something from me?” Sokka teases, pinching his nipple gently between his fingers. Zuko tosses his head back and whines. “You’re always so selfless. Always putting others first. Tell me what _you_ want, Zuko. Tell me,” he says against the other nipple, flicking his tongue at it, “cause you _deserve_ it.” 

“It’s— _ah—_ ” Zuko laughs uncomfortably. He kind of looks like he’s dying. He definitely looks like he likes it. “It’s not selfish to put what _you_ want first. It’s _really, really_ not.”

“That doesn’t sound like an answer,” Sokka says, and pulls entirely away.

“No,” Zuko whines. Sokka waits.

And waits.

And is frankly getting kind of concerned, when— 

“If you want something,” Zuko finally says. “I want you to _demand_ it.”

Every time Sokka thinks too much about this he fucks it up, so instead he says, impulsively, “tell me you’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Zuko says, reflexively, the words jumping out of his mouth. 

“Wow,” Sokka says, totally missing it, “you really are a brat. You know what I meant. You’re beautiful, and not just to me.”

“I,” Zuko says, looking deeply pained, and embarrassed. “Am.”

“Beautiful,” Sokka coaches.

“Buh,” Zuko mutters. 

“Eyoooooot.”

“Sokka. I don’t have your hair fetish. I can’t just—”

“Oh my gods,” Sokka sighs, shifting up to brush his lips against his left eyelid demonstrably, lips barely brushing the puckered skin of his eyelid. “Just say it, Zuko. Just _say_ ‘I’m beautiful’. Just do it.”

“I’m beautiful,” Zuko says, and his shoulders relax into the mattress.

“You _are_ ,” Sokka agrees, emphatically, more intensely than he had been expecting. He doesn’t typically _say_ these things to Zuko, partially because they’d always end up fighting but mostly because it’s _embarrassing._

But he’s hating hearing it so much that it’s actually easier to say it. Torturing Zuko seems to make making Zuko happy… easier?

Sokka kisses Zuko’s nose gently, adding, “your nose is beautiful,” before moving to his cheek. “Your cheekbones are high and pretty. Like those scrolls you hang in the history wing.” 

“I think the repetitive head trauma has gotten to you,” Zuko mutters. 

“Mmm,” Sokka disagrees, “and that _mouth.”_ He spends his time kissing Zuko, licking at the seam of his lips where they’re pursed, teasing at his tongue. Zuko gives in and kisses back, hesitant little brushes, kitten licks. Sokka grins, triumphant, and tips Zuko’s head back to kiss him deeper, slotting their hips back together. Zuko makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, hips twitching, and Sokka pulls back. 

“Good!” Sokka says. “Now say that you’re smart.”

“You’re smart,” Zuko breathes, eyes blown black and fingers twitching where he’d pressed his hands up above his head. Then he blinks a few times. “Wait—”

“Zuko,” Sokka says, frowning.

“Wait, no it’s—” 

“If you don’t _want_ to come—”

“I’m lucky,” Zuko stutters out, then shakes his head, “--no, I mean, yes Sokka, you’re right Sokka, I am pretty and smart and,” he makes a weird hacking noise, “smart and _k-”_ he coughs again, and this time he shoves Sokka to the side, eyes wide as he coughs a tiny weak yellow flame. 

“Hey,” Sokka murmurs, but Zuko shakes his head, tears beading at the corners of his eyes as he holds out a hand. 

“I can do this, I can, I can be _good,_ ” Zuko wheezes. “I’m, I’m, I’m,” he stutters. The rapid way he’s breathing is more panic attack than arousal. “Fuck-k-k-k, I c-can do this, I c-c-can do b-better, I’m _k-k-k-”_

“Zuko!” Sokka yells, hands on his face, pulling him close. His brows are knitted together with worry. “No, stop, this isn’t what I wanted,” he says, kissing his mouth chastly and brushing at his tears with his thumbs. 

Zuko wheezes out a relieved sigh, and immediately stops. He snorts, and it’s kind of gross. “Fucked it up,” he explains.

Determination crosses Sokka’s face. 

“No Zuko, you didn’t,” Sokka says solemnly. “We _are_ too young for erectile dysfunction.”

Zuko snorts again, presses his face into the collar of his robe, wipes at his nose.

“You’re kind,” Sokka tells him. Zuko cuts his eyes away and frowns, but Sokka dips his head to follow his gaze. “No, listen. _You are kind._ ”

“Not to myself,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t think— that one’s not. I can’t do that yet, Sokka.”

“We’ll get there,” Sokka says gently, stroking his fingers soothingly along the side of Zuko’s neck. 

“I’ll get better,” Zuko says, in a nasally mockery of his own voice.

“ _We’ll_ get there,” Sokka repeats. “For now, I’m gonna keep kissing all the parts of you that I think are pretty.” 

“Good luck getting to my brain,” Zuko says.

Sokka sticks his tongue in Zuko’s ear. “‘Ound ih,” he says, and Zuko yelps and smacks his face away. 

“Strangest thing, it’s entirely empty in there,” Sokka says, wide eyed and grinning. 

“I’ll show you _empty,”_ Zuko says darkly, and then grabs for Sokka’s waistband.

“You’re so smart,” Sokka sighs. “A way with words. C’mere and let me kiss your hands.” 

“I’m a best selling novelist,” Zuko says, and reluctantly moves his hands up to Sokka’s face. Sokka stares at them blankly for a moment, not actually having expected that, and then smacks a kiss on both of the palms.

“Mwah,” he says, then takes Zuko’s wrists in his hands so that he can repeat the treatment on the tips of each finger. 

“I get it, Sokka,” Zuko says, and he’s going from panic attack red straight to a happy pink.

Sokka moves Zuko’s wrists to his mouth, ignoring him as he brushes his lips gently against the sensitive skin there. They’ve had a tenuous thread of whatever about last night made it so good, and Sokka’s angling to get it back. 

“This is unnecessary,” Zuko says.

“Oh, these elbows,” he sighs, kissing the inside of one. Zuko _squeaks,_ and his arm jerks. “You nudge me with these when you wanna share a joke with me. These elbows are _perfect._ ”

“If you kiss my armpits,” Zuko says. “You will have _kissed an armpit.”_

“You’d do it for me, if I asked,” Sokka teases, mouthing at Zuko’s ribs. 

“I’d do it for you, if you told me to,” Zuko corrects.

“If I _asked._ Because you’re a _good boy.”_

Zuko’s hips shoot upwards so hard he actually knocks Sokka into the air.

“Sorry!” he says. “Nevermind that,” he adds, desperately.

Sokka’s laughing as he shimmies down, kissing at Zuko’s belly and tickling at the sensitive skin with his beard. “Mmm, this belly-button is cute.” He sticks his tongue in it. 

Zuko tries to squirm away from him, by doing a weird kind of hip shuffle up the bed. There’s a weird sort of crunching noise, which Sokka realizes must be him hitting the ashes of the book and some of the bedding. It’s not the first time they’ve fucked on ashes, and it’s definitely not going to be the last. 

He’s extra gentle when he kisses over the lightning scar from Azula. It’s softer than the one on Zuko’s face, a different type of burn, and Katara still treats him for it annually to make sure there won’t be lasting damage to his nervous system. 

So Sokka’s gentle as he kisses it, Zuko shuddering beneath him. “Talk to me,” Sokka murmurs, moving on to a hip and scraping his teeth over it. His thumbs press into the divots there, firm. 

“I have to decide whether or not to raise export taxes soon,” Zuko says blankly. 

“Oh?” Sokka says, nosing Zuko’s pubic hair. “You’re such a dedicated leader.” 

Zuko groans, puts one hand on his face and the other on Sokka’s shoulder. “Sokka,” he says, pained. 

“Mhhm?” Sokka responds, curling his tongue around the base of Zuko’s cock. “What do you need?” He can feel where Zuko’s shivering, holding himself together as much as he can so far into the tease. 

“A—a tariff review?” 

“Only you care enough to keep track of all that stuff,” Sokka says. He glances up through his eyelashes at Zuko. “It’s impressive.” 

“I’m so bad at this,” Zuko says, shoulders scrunched up. He’s chewing on his lip, staring at the ceiling, red down to his chest.

“You’re perfect,” Sokka says, and sucks a hickey in the skin next to Zuko’s cock. It jerks, smearing precome against his cheek. 

“Hey,’ Zuko says in a strangled voice. “Uh. What if— what if instead, I blow you? What if that instead?”

Sokka chuckles and keeps doing what he’s doing. Which is teasing Zuko into an incoherent mess with his tongue. One of his hands has slipped down Zuko’s thigh and between his legs to cup his balls, rolling them between his fingers.

“I changed my mind,” Zuko says. He’s panting, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, hands curled in his hair. “You’re mean.”

Sokka laughs again, hot breath ghosting against Zuko’s erection where it’s curved into his belly, desperately red. “D’you like it?” 

A muscle in Zuko’s thigh jumps, but he’s silent. When Sokka glances up, his lips are pressed shut tightly.

“Zuuuuko,” Sokka hums, chin jutting into his hip as he watches him. “If you don’t like it, you have to say something. There’s not much point to this if you don’t like it.”

Zuko opens his mouth soundless, drops one hand from his hair to pat briskly at Sokka’s shoulder. 

“What’s that mean?” Sokka asks, pulling away a little further. He tries not to laugh at the utterly panicked expression on Zuko’s face, and the increasing _bop bop bop_ , and fails. “Oh? Did you have something you wanted to say?”

Zuko shakes his head, tears beading again in his good eye. His grip on Sokka’s shoulder tightens and his hips jerk up, jutting his cock against Sokka’s chin insistently. “Ssss,” he says.

This is so much more intense than Sokka had been expecting. His own eyes are blown, breath coming shallowly. “You gonna be good for me, Zuko? Tell me if you like this. _Tell me._ ”

“I like this,” Zuko says. It’s jagged, and shaped weird around the edges, like the words are unfamiliar. Maybe they are. Sokka actually can’t remember the last time he heard Zuko admit he _liked_ something. Not just to be polite, or to compliment someone else— but because he wanted something, and it was good. His chest is heaving with the effort, and he twists his face to press it into the pillow.

“Good,” Sokka says, and licks a stripe along the underside of Zuko’s erection, making sure to hold him down when his hips buck. “Then I’m gonna suck you off, and you’re gonna be a real good boy and be loud for me, okay?” 

“Do I have to?” Zuko asks, reaching down with a hand to shield himself before Sokka can dive in.

“No,” Sokka says. He flutters his eyelashes at him. “But you want to.” 

Zuko groans, moves his hand out of the way. He trails a finger across Sokka’s cheek as he does, a quick little _hi._ “That’s _worse,_ ” he says. 

“I know,” Sokka agrees, kissing Zuko’s finger, _hi back._ Then he curls his tongue around Zuko’s cock and swallows him completely. 

Zuko gasps, and then his breathing goes off rhythm and stays odd. Holding his breath and then remembering to breathe, trying not to make noise and then trying to _let_ himself make noise. The hand he’d pulled away lands on Sokka’s shoulder, not pulling or pushing, just fingers squeezing rhythmically. 

There’s no way that Zuko’s going to last much longer, so Sokka pulls out his best work, relaxing his throat to swallow against him, bobbing his head to give him friction. Zuko kicks his legs and keens, biting his palm, and Sokka hums deep in his throat and chest. He’s humping the bed a little, each cry and gasp shocking him like lightning. 

He thinks he could probably come like this. He’s not sure if he wants to, or if he wants to drag it out longer, climb up where he can see Zuko’s blissed out face. 

But it turns out not to be an issue, because half a second after he’s started trying to make a decision Zuko is tensing up underneath him. Sokka snaps back to the present where Zuko’s sobbing into his palm, kicking at the sheets in desperation as he comes with a wail. 

Sokka swallows, because it disgusts Zuko, and then keeps sucking him through aftershocks, hips jerking underneath him as Zuko begs to get away. 

“ _Sokka,”_ he whines, pulling at his hair, and Sokka pulls off, suddenly aware of how desperate he is, and climbs up Zuko’s body with his come still in his mouth. Zuko tugs at his arms, urging him up, a desperation in the way they’re grasping and pulling. He doesn’t go for the kiss Sokka thought he would, keeps guiding Sokka until he’s straddling Zuko’s chest, cock bumping insistently against Zuko’s lips. 

“Oh, fuck,” Sokka moans, grabbing the wrought iron bedframe as Zuko opens his mouth greedily. The angle is bad for him, he has no leverage, can only get the tip in his mouth and only by straining. 

“Okay,” Sokka says, laughing shakily. “Hold on, hold on.”

Zuko glares at him, and keeps trying to pull a muscle in order to get Sokka’s dick in his mouth. Sokka helps, leveraging himself down on one knee and tipping his hips just as Zuko leans up on an elbow and gags himself. 

“Fuck!” Sokka curses, and starts to pull out, but Zuko grabs him by the ass, nails digging in, and takes him all the way. “ _Fuck_ ,” Sokka repeats, toes curling in the sheets as Zuko makes quick work of him. 

The orgasm hits so sharp and so hard he loses feeling in his fingers, that his head starts hurting. He’s pretty sure he goes blind in one eye for a second, and he might actually die. He’s pretty sure he _actually dies._

He slowly tips backwards, but Zuko holds him up as best as he can, balancing his fall so that he can lower himself onto the mattress next to him.

Zuko catches his eye with a blank face and opens his mouth, pushing Sokka’s come out of his mouth with his tongue. “Ugh,” he says, and Sokka grimaces. 

“Just what I like to hear after an orgasm,” Sokka tells him, settling close so that he can stroke Zuko’s hair lovingly. It’s sweaty and hot and sticking everywhere. 

“Groh,” Zuko says, mouth still open, fingers opening and closing in the air demandingly. _Gross._ “ _Groh.”_

Sokka laughs, passing him a shirt to wipe his mouth on. “You did so good,” Sokka tells him. 

“Oh,” Zuko says, ignoring him. He lifts the shirt with a neutral expression. “Thih ih un uneehh.”

“Well, I can’t let you ruin an _antique_ ,” Sokka says, grabs his face, and kisses him. He’s not a prissy baby like Zuko, and a little bit of jizz doesn’t bother him. He kisses Zuko until he’s huffing and smacking at Sokka’s arms to let him go.

“You’re disgusting,” he says, wiping at his face with the back of his arm.

“You’re perfect,” Sokka says dreamily. 

“Disgusting,” Zuko groans, and hides his face in Sokka’s collarbone. There’s a bit of shifting, and then he starts licking Sokka’s chest.

What a gentleman.

“You’re so weird,” Sokka tells him, caging him in his thighs and wrapping his arms around him. He likes to pretend that he’s Zuko’s shield like this, keeping him separate from the world, the people who can hurt him. “We’re going to get so good at this.”

Zuko stops licking him, and his breath is cool where it hits the drying spit and sweat on Sokka’s chest. “If we get any better,” he says. “I will die.”

“Awh, babe,” Sokka coos, “don’t be like that. You _always_ get better.”

“I’m going to get better on the floor,” Zuko mumbles, twitching like he’s trying to do a Zuko-coon again. Sokka is hanging onto him instead of blankets this time though, and he can’t quite manage it.

“If that’s what you want,” Sokka sighs, still petting his hair, still caging him in. “I’ll support you. Because you’re so fucking cute.” 

_“Hngh,”_ Zuko says, and with a truly heroic effort manages to roll them one full rotation. They don’t fall off the bed, because the Fire Lord is privileged with an absolutely massive mattress.

“Feel better?” Sokka asks, and before Zuko can respond, kisses him gently on the lips. “I love you.” _Game, set, match._

Zuko, eyes wide in shock, seems to tap into some kind of adrenaline-strength.

They hit the floor Sokka first.

“You can’t just say that!” Zuko yells, scandalized.

“Owww,” Sokka says, ouchingly.

“You never say that!” Zuko yells, and then seems to melt into a shame puddle on top of Sokka. Which would be funnier if Sokka wasn’t bruised in interesting new places, but is still pretty funny. “I did not mean to do that!”

Sokka groans, and hauls them back onto the bed, one arm wrapped around Zuko. “Look at how buff I am,” Sokka says, throwing them back onto the mattress. “Look at me, lifting you up and throwing you onto the bed. I’m such a cool, buff husband.” 

“I love you too,” Zuko says, laughing, face still embarrassed.

“Who wouldn’t? I’m a real hunk of man,” Sokka says. He tries for a flex, but his shoulder cramps as he raises it. “ _Ouch.”_

“Awh,” Zuko says, kissing Sokka’s spasming bicep, “look at you, being so good to me.” 

“Ah!” Sokka says, “No! That’s against the _rules_.” Zuko’s perched on his chest, chin on his hands where they’re tucked cutely. He blinks at him innocently. 

“What?” Zuko says, and his eyes narrow, mouth tilts up in a smile as he senses weakness. “I can’t say thank you for providing for me? Giving me everything I need? Taking care of me?”

“Die,” Sokka hisses, and rolls them over, kissing the laughter out of Zuko’s mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> We've started an 18+ Zukka Chaos discord! Click here [here](https://discord.gg/9qbzhcb) to join.


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